Great. More watching. It’s like Neighbourhood Watch but Neena-Watch instead. The whole world might as well join in. ‘Yes, miss.’
She smiles at me. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Neena. You’re a top-grade student! And so I’m sure – certain – you’ll do brilliantly in the exams. But, if you can report back to me at the end of every week, that’d be great. And I’ll call your dad and fill him in on the … the hiccup … that we’re going to fix.’ She smiles again. A fake smile. All lips and no eyes.
‘Wait. What? No.’ I’m shaking my head like crazy. She can’t tell Dad about the marks. Especially not after everything that happened over the weekend. He’ll go ballistic. There’s no way he’ll let me go to art college – it’s like he’s just looking for one more reason.
Ms Jones’s head tilts so that she’s practically resting her head on her own shoulder. Like a proper owl. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she says.
‘About the … the dips in my marks. Do you have to tell my dad?’
She straightens her head. ‘I can’t lie to him, Neena.’
‘No, no, of course not. I’m just …’ I know I need to say something that will convince her and I desperately search for the right phrase. ‘I’m not asking you to lie,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just … it’s Dad … He’s not doing so great himself lately.’
I’ve definitely got her attention now. She’s looking at me really closely. I used to think that teachers had this built-in bullshit detector until I saw the amount of stuff Fi gets away with. I keep my eyes fixed on Ms Jones’s. I don’t blink and I definitely don’t look away – a sure sign of a liar. Fi taught me that.
‘Please, just give me a week or two,’ I say. ‘Let me prove myself. I’m … not sure he can … you know … take much more.’ The tears come gushing out now. I’m not exactly sure where they come from, if they’re real or fake or what. I’m not usually much of a crier. But they’re genius, even if I do say so myself.
The crying puts her into quite a frenzy. She pushes tissues into my hand and pats my arm across the table. ‘There, there,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Let me see what I can do.’
The tears continue rolling down my cheeks.
Ms Jones looks a bit nervous. She bites the corner of her lip. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she says, ‘let’s give it a week and see how it goes. But then I will need to call your dad with an update – and hopefully it will be a positive one. How does that sound?’
I take a deep breath and nod. ‘Thank you.’ I actually want to hug her, but that would be a step too far, I reckon.
‘You can do this, Neena,’ she says. And that makes me cry a bit more.
‘I won’t let you down,’ I say, and I mean it.
I’m going to work hard. And not just to get Dad off my back, but to get away from home. That’s always been the plan – studying art is all I’ve dreamed of for years. It’s weird, but it’s like a wake-up call, as cheesy as that sounds: I suddenly can’t understand why I haven’t been working harder already. It’s like I’ve been sleeping. Or sleepwalking. Or something.
I wipe my eyes and stand up. ‘Thank you,’ I say again. And then I get out of there, fast, before she changes her mind.
‘Holy shit!’ Fi says, when I fill her in on Dad catching me on Saturday night. ‘Does he know about Josh?’
It’s lunchtime and we’re at the top of the field behind the school, leaning against the bike shed. It’s much hotter than it was this morning and the air smells of freshly mown grass and smoke from Fi’s cigarette. Although I’ve only been up here a few minutes, I’m getting twitchy about being caught. For months, it hasn’t bothered me. Now it’s all I can think about. And the smell of the cigarette is bothering me too. I don’t want to stink of it and get into even more trouble.
‘God, no, can you imagine!’ I reply. I keep my eyes focused on the bottom of the field, in case any teachers come checking. No one ever does until the second half of lunchtime, I guess because they’re busy having their lunch and gossiping in the staffroom. By that time, me, Fi and any others up here are usually at the chippy. But today I can’t take any risks. There’s no way I’m going to the chip shop; I’m not even sure what I’m doing up here, but it was either that or face Josh. And, with everything that happened with Ms Jones this morning, I’m really not sure what to do about Josh … I can’t risk being seen with him and Dad finding out, but I’m also not ready to tell Josh that yet.
‘But he knows I was drinking,’ I explain. ‘And now he’s checking up on me and I’m on some sort of informal report with Ms Jones. Apparently, my marks aren’t good enough. I have to check in with her at the end of every week.’
‘Shit,’ Fi says. ‘That sucks.’
‘Yep.’ I glance back at her. I don’t tell her about begging Ms Jones not to tell Dad. I definitely don’t tell her about the crying.
She pushes her designer sunglasses up on to her head. ‘God, Neens. You … want a cigarette?’ She lights another for herself and offers me one. ‘You seem totally stressed.’
I glare at her. ‘This is serious, Fi.’
‘I know, I know … I’m sorry. And seriously, if you ever need a place to stay, to just get away from everything …’
‘Thanks, Fi.’
‘Anyway, I say stick two fingers up at them all.’ She waves two fingers in the air in the direction of the school.
I pull down her arm. ‘Please don’t do that. What if they see you?’
She stares at me, shocked. ‘Are you really going to let them stop you living your life?’
‘I … I don’t know what to do! If I don’t get good marks, Ms Jones will tell my dad and he’s going to stop me going to art college.’ I take a sharp breath in as the reality of everything hits me. ‘No more parties for me,’ I say, deciding this is it: I need to make some changes. ‘And I’ll have to end things with Josh too. It’s just too risky.’
‘What!’ Fi grabs hold of my arm. ‘No! I saw you two on Saturday night. You were soooo happy! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that happy, Neens.’
I look at Fi and I hear Akash’s voice: Be happy. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘But I’ve got no other choice.’
‘You always have a choice,’ Fi says. ‘Isn’t that what Akash would say?’
I stare at her, and I don’t know what to say. Because she’s right. It’s exactly what he’d say. But I’m just not feeling too brave right now.
‘Maybe I can help …’ Fi continues, and she taps her chin with one of her perfectly manicured nails, thinking up a plan. Her red hair glistens in the sun.
I’m suddenly too hot. Too worried. Too full of all the things Akash said and the things I want to do and the things I can’t. My eyes are frantically scanning the bottom of the field again. There’s only one thing I know with absolute certainty: I want to study art. I need to. Akash would want that for me too.